As a teenager I would simply wander into the woods. Not thinking twice of who or what I might encounter, there was a spot where an enormous tree had fallen next to an old cabin. A one room home, with a porch and fireplace, all wooden, save the fireplace, and precariously still standing. 

I’d tiptoe inside and stand in the middle, then retreat to the log and sit in the quiet. My imagination would place scenes countless novels to this place… And then my  mind would drift to my own story… The potential of it. 

I don’t make it into the woods very often anymore. This year provided beautiful moments of visiting forests I’d never seen and landscapes that filled my soul. Age and experience make me wary of wandering into the woods alone, but they’ve become a picture my mind drifts to. (In my mind) I’ve built a house by the river with garden boxes, a pet fox, all surrounded by a wet moody wood. My hope is to build this home for real someday.

And in my darkest, I’m in the woods as well: a small clearing with the slightest hint of moonlight while my imagination tells me I’m being watched by all manner of nocturnal kind. 

And there is a comfort there – it’s become a haven when the waves of despair hit so hard I cannot verbalize their magnitude. 

And I’ve learned – for me at least – it is a wave. Some last longer than others but I tell myself that – “This is a wave. These feelings will pass. You just have to make it through.” 

A few days ago it hit. I found myself saying, “I know this feeling. This is familiar.” Knowing that sleep would help, but it was elusive. I drowned myself in distracting phone scrolling until exhaustion took over. When I awoke, it was less, but still there. I clawed through the day and …it did pass. 

2023 has been weird; a mixture of moments of pure joy and long seasons of …hard. 

My prayer has been for literal rescue for months. 

In this ambiguous season, staring down a new year, I’ve been more sad than hopeful – fearful that while I desperately need to wake up tomorrow with a fresh outlook and fresh start not every corner of my world is ok with that. Fresh starts are tricky when other people are involved. 

The New Year is supposed to bring goals and words and intentions. And I did some of that today, because I do take ownership of the behaviors I need to curb to help make hard, not…. Harder. But this time my prayers and quiet are telling me something I don’t want to hear. 

“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” 2 Corinthians 12:9

I’ve found myself a bit like the Jews 2000 years ago, salty about the Saviors arrival once they realized it didn’t mean overthrowing the Romans. My salvation will not rescue me from hard circumstances that I feel unequipped to navigate- harder still, it does not include a miracle cure to the anxiety and depression that walk everyday with me. 

But what my salvation does look like is a God who knows my every fear and is whispering to me daily that it’s OK to not be ok. If anything, I am starting and ending everyday acutely aware of my weakness and that I can do nothing without God. But I also know, that means I can do “all things” through him- whether that means making it through a day at work without tears, getting the chores done, holding my tongue, or executing a major project. In every moment He will be there. Even at the darkest- the whisper of “this is familiar, you know what this is and it will pass…” is the Comforter encouraging me when it’s 2 am. 

As far as reflections and New Year’s posts go, I’ve won the award for melancholy. But a whisper tells me I’m not the only one in this space. So as tomorrow comes, I will hide the chocolate, get up early, and strive to reinstate neglected rhythms to good health. I might go take a walk in the woods. Most importantly, my prayers will have also shifted. 

God, grant me peace. Help my faith to grow; trusting and knowing that you are walking this path with me. In my weakness, may your perfect power create a testimony of joy this coming year. 

Happy New Year friends.